Pines
by Virtute et Armis
Summary: AR. Set after Itachi's first visit. Sasuke goes on a mission away from Konoha so that, if Itachi returns, he won't try to avenge his clan, again. Problem is, Naruto isn't Itachi's priority. Itasasu.


Warning: Incest and yaoi (aka sex between guys)

Don't like? Don't read. Do like? Please review.

As an added warning, I wrote this in two parts. One, roughly, two years ago? I finally rediscovered it and decided to finish it.

**Pines**

The forest was shadowed and long and deserted. Sasuke preferred the cool of the evening and the bitterness of approaching night. The stars were reaching above the glow of the falling sun and the trees were alighted with a new fire. He was in a foreign country; the trees weren't towering oaks, but surly pines. Their leaves were thin and long and spidery, white sap running like veins on the dark bark. He traced a finger along the coarse surface of a particularly tall pine. He stared into the greenery and fancied he saw it dancing to an invisible breeze.

In actuality, he was not in a foreign country, but in the southernmost reaches of Konoha. After Itachi's sighting and his consequent hospital stay, he had been told to take a solo mission to the south. He knew the point was to keep him out of the way if Itachi were to return to finish the job he had started. Of course, that job had nothing to do with Sasuke- not like the thirteen-year old cared. So he would really just be in the way, screaming and charging and promising revenge. He was always a burden and, perhaps, that realization helped him to accept the trivial mission in the first place.

He was to look for an old shrine, which didn't make much sense. It was supposedly dedicated to some fire god and held a few ancient scrolls. The hokage warned that the scrolls had probably rotted to nothing more than a white mush, so this really was going to be a fruitless mission. He continued down a natural path, the pine nettles soft and soundless beneath his sandals. The woods were sharply familiar and he felt as if he belonged. Or, perhaps, it was just the solace of solitude.

He found the shrine- after a three day trek- and dipped his hands in the stream. He carefully removed his sandals in homage and pulled incense from his pocket. He noted, not surprised at all, the Uchiha fan emblazoned on the post, the weather having worn away the color but not the shape. This was the part of the country, after all, that the Uchiha had originated from. It was also why his family's cemetery was set to the south. He entered the shrine and the metal was covered in dust and a few ravens that had been roosting took flight. He laid the incense on the altar, in their containers, and lit them with religious dexterity.

He sat there for awhile. He prayed a bit and cried a whole lot more than he had meant to. When he had finished, wiping his eyes for the last time (he swore to himself), he got up to leave. The tendrils of jasmine made him give one last forlorn look at the altar. Perhaps he could extend his mission and sojourn one more day. But, and now he looked at the doorway, kanji inscribing the names of his most famous ancestors, he should let them sleep as well. The night was a cool rush and he carefully stepped down the wooden steps. He stared into the small trickle of holy water, his reflection distorted.

He remembered when he'd sit by the lake at home. How he'd see himself and he'd see Itachi. He'd jump in, foolishly (always foolishly), and try to wrestle those features from his face by brute force. He'd surface, though, and any hope of catching a glimpse was lost. His scratches on his face would burn for a few days, but they always healed quickly, but not as quickly-he remembered sourly- as they had when Itachi would tend him. The water was cool as he plunged his hand again and wiped his forehead- trying in vain to purify his thoughts.

The thoughts still ran their depraved course, though- a current of wanton cognitions. He thought of how those fingers, which could kill you instantly, could be capable of such gentleness. He remembered the soft touches his brother would place on him and how, just as easily, those appendages worked to create his worst terrors. And he remembered those lips- perfect like soft rose petals- telling him, unlike everyone else, how much he loved Sasuke and, then, how much he hated him. Sasuke was sent into another round of crying when hate conflicted with regret and, in the end, regret had won.

He missed him; he missed him more than he had missed anyone before. Because, somewhere, within Sasuke, he was happy the clan was gone. That damned clan held them to such standards no sane child should be subjected to. More than likely, his relatives had driven Itachi to the razor's edge and very well had willingly tossed him over. He bit his tongue in the throes of his agony as his thoughts formed a hope he had worked for years to renounce- Itachi had killed the clan for Sasuke. By saying he hated Sasuke, he cut Sasuke's final, possible bond with the dead underground. Sasuke had been disowned from a clan that was destroying him, but, over the years, he learned how easy it was to corrupt himself.

He didn't hear the approaching footsteps until he saw the feet in the edge of his vision. He looked up at the familiar face- as if his thoughts had invoked him, Itachi stood there. His cloak was closed and his face was drawn into the familiar antipathy. He slowly began unbuttoning his cloak and, with a swift movement, he tossed the swathe of fabric over Sasuke's shoulders. He felt the flood of warmth, the indirect exchange of body heat, and he finally stopped shivering.

A gentle hand guided him to his feet. He walked a little ways and saw a small shack he had not seen before. Itachi lead him up the stairs with gentle nudges, the old wood strong beneath his unsure feet. When the door yawned before him, Sasuke stilled. Suddenly, the situation hit him and he realized what he was doing and who he was with and everything else. "You're supposed to be heading north." He said dumbly, fighting against the increasingly strong force on his back.

"And you're supposed to be at home." Itachi said softly. His breath fanned on Sasuke's ear and the younger hadn't noticed when he had become so close. He tried to wriggle backwards, but only twisted against the firm body behind him. He started chanting no, no, no, as if his defenses had finally just kicked in. But a hand escorted him through the door and eventually on to a bed. Itachi stood by a window and looked past a drawn curtain. "Stay here." He said and went to go outside.

Sasuke jumped into action, grabbing at Itachi's shirt: "Why do I have to stay here?" He asked defiantly, but the look he was given swallowed that defiance whole. Sasuke could tell just by the tilt of the lips and list of the eyes that Itachi was doing this for his sake. The thoughts he had entertained before were deluding his judgment and, meekly, he said: "Be safe, Aniki." And Itachi promised he would return soon.

A full day had passed. Sasuke sat beneath the trees, in the shack, watching the sun make its trek across the sky. He waited all day, but Itachi didn't return. He longed for him, a feeling he didn't quite like. He knew he could not deny Itachi anything. He knew he was too weak to produce any viable opposition to his brother. When the sun dipped below the horizon, he went to the shrine, silently weeping an assumed death of his brother.

He burned the incense and, silently, prayed for his brother's return. When the hour dragged on and the incense only gave up thin tendrils of smoke, he decided to return to the shack. However, the door to the shrine opened suddenly and Itachi appeared. His shirt was torn; blood was all over him, shining brilliantly on his pale skin, like liquid garnet. Yet, the blood was not his and the damage was only due to his haphazard return. "Konoha was following you." He explained and closed the distance between Sasuke and him.

"Now I have you all to myself." Itachi explained and crashed their lips together. The blood on Itachi was slick as Sasuke tried to find a hold on the body, He dug his fingernails into the unyielding flesh, the body above him guiding him atop the altar. The incense was tossed and it sputtered, extinguished, in the corners near the idols. Itachi brought forth a kunai- covered in crusted blood- and drew it across Sasuke's collar bone. He licked and lapped at it, sucking at the tender flesh. Sasuke swooned at the sensation, temporarily forgetting who was forgetting him.

It hit him like a freight train, though, and frantically he tried to push his brother away.

The blood made his hold difficult and the hand with the kunai limited his movements. The blade cut under his clothes quickly enough and somehow he felt a rush of relief as his body was released. It rubbed sensuously against the blood slick underbelly of his brother and, momentarily, he forgot his struggle. Only in his most intimate dreams and horrendous nightmares had he committed this act and in the blur between action and thought he couldn't tell which parts were nightmarish and which were dreamy.

His fingernails bit into Itachi's shoulders as the elder heaved a heady moan. "I killed them." Itachi confided as his tongue teased his brother's nipple. "Konoha...followed you." Sasuke squirmed against him, his fingers pulling at the charcoal locks. He felt the hair tie unknot in his fingers and the strands turned loose and wild. A candle that had been extinguished by his back was slowly losing form by his body heat. He felt it melt further and the burn was soothed by the cool wax. Itachi's hot tongue found his navel.

"Kami." Sasuke managed as Itachi's tongue thrusted slowly, teasingly. He could feel the chuckle of Itachi's breath as it vibrated on his lower abdomen. He wanted scratch at the feeling, the feather light undulations of Itachi's breath. He could hear Itachi's voice in his head and realized, to his dismay, it was his own.

_Pray to your gods, Sasuke, in our shrine. Pray to us._

_Pray._

_Pray you coward._

_Pray._

Sasuke struggled more forcibly as he felt the searing eyes of his ancestors, but the kunai had relieved him of his final garments and Itachi was preparing him with the blood on his body. Sasuke wondered whose it was. Sasuke wondered if he knew them. Was it Kakashi? Was it Genma? Was it Naruto?

Who cares? He relented as Itachi slowly pushed in. The burning became an itching that scratched along his shoulders and scalp. He could smell the heady scent of incense, but he had thought they had gone out. Yet, he could tell from the small window above the altar, and just barely could he see the sky from such an angle, that it was nearly dark and it must be night and in here there was light, so a candle was burning. Or many candles and maybe the incense weren't out and _who cares_?

The wet muscle probed his mouth and entered teasingly. Sasuke pushed back and up, away from the fire that was coming to close to him. The other fire before him was more bearable and comfortable (and so much like him). He felt the steady rock and worked to meet Itachi with each thrust. He curled himself around Itachi's shoulder, digging his chin into his muscled deltoid. Itachi was whispering promises and truths and secrets that Sasuke couldn't hear over his personal arousal. And he couldn't hear it because of his remorse and shame that buzzed in his ears, provoked by watching the names of his ancestors dance on the far wall, forced to writhe and twitch by the flame.

Sasuke began to hear Itachi, as his climax closed around him and forced him _into _now. "We are Uchiha." Itachi said like it was an absolute truth only he knew. "We use fire." Sasuke became keenly aware of the growing flames behind him and the flaring heat above him. "We burn ourselves to ashes, Sasuke. And from it, our progeny is born."

Sasuke hit his climax first and Itachi finished fluidly a few moments later. The ceiling was beginning to cave to the flaming tongues and Sasuke felt burning debris singe his cheek. Everything was becoming darker and obscured by the smoke, his breaths wee now painful to pull. Itachi was curling himself around Sasuke, who lay dumbly on the altar. "I love you." Itachi stated and Sasuke felt the words take hold of his heart and twist it.

"I love you, too." He said with burning tongue and burnt mouth. His lungs finally decided they had enough and Sasuke felt suffocation close him off. He was set aside within himself as Itachi dexterously carried him from the burning shrine. The burning ceiling, the dancing names, and the heavy incense seemed spiritual to Sasuke in that moment of dissociation. Somehow, he felt this was something deeper than satisfying a carnal lust. He also knew he had failed his mission as the shrine collapsed in a burst of flame.

When he woke up in the woods, further north, the Sun was in his eyes. The ground below him didn't feel nettled and he soon realized why. The whole forest, the whole pine forest, was nothing but ashes. Perhaps, that was an exaggeration, but his mind could hardly comprehend the swathe of destruction wrought. He didn't feel ashamed, naked and bloodied and filled with sex, as he assessed the war path of the Uchiha. Rather, he felt powerful, realizing his passion had destroyed the last untarnished remnant of his clan.

The forest was burned. The shrine was destroyed. Sasuke had survived. Where had Itachi gone? Why does he care? (Because he wants him, but to kill him: he wants to see the bastard bleed and bare all for him). Did Itachi really love him? (But what is love to an Uchiha who dies for it, in the end?)

He wandered in the direction he believed the village to be, stepping around the numerous pinecones that littered the ground because only when there is fire will pine trees release their seed. Sasuke carelessly toes them aside, realizing Itachi's analogy was meant towards the trees, but he preferred the idea of the phoenix. He didn't want to have to die.

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